


Do Not Attempt At Home

by disoriented_writing



Series: Ill-Advised [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Bestiality, Biting, Creampie, I think?, Impregnation, Impregnation Kink, Knotting, Mention of horse cock idk, Monsterfucking, Other, Penetration, Porn, Porn Without Plot, Reader is afab but gender isnt real so, Size Difference, Stream of Consciousness, Vaginal Penetration, do i know how to use a period? no, how many more tags does this need im curious, idk the reader is fucking a lynel thats whats happening here, lynel's have two dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disoriented_writing/pseuds/disoriented_writing
Summary: It shouldn’t be possible, but here you are, and here it is, and truly — truly —Despite the absurdity of getting fucked by a monster who really should be ripping you apart limb-by-limb, it’s — it’s —It’s reallyfucking nice, god.
Relationships: Lynel (Legend of Zelda)/Reader, Lynel (Legend of Zelda)/You
Series: Ill-Advised [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689310
Comments: 7
Kudos: 236





	Do Not Attempt At Home

**Author's Note:**

> UNENDINGLY sorry if youre subscribed to my user account and you're getting the notif that I posted this monstrosity. listen. i know. believe me, I know. just pretend It doesn't exist.

It’s a strange sort of push and pull, this — the drag and drag and whisper-light pain past endorphin brine storming your blood vessels. It’s _strange, this_ — shouldn’t be possible, no, but — none of it should, really, not the magic-hooved man-horse monster or the scraping of your knees on the grassy ground or the cock splitting you so wide, filling you up so much it feels like all your organs are displacing from the stress of it. 

It shouldn’t be possible, but here you are, and here it is, and truly — truly — 

Despite the absurdity of getting fucked by a monster who really should be ripping you apart limb-by-limb, it’s — it’s — 

It’s really _fucking nice_ , god. 

Lynels are sentient, you know? Living breathing territorial creatures who know what the fuck they’re doing when they kill you, threaten your life and threaten your guts. They’re _real and living and they get horny, funnily enough_ , ‘cause it’s absurd, you know? Murderous beasts getting horny — murderous beasts who smell a horny little motherfucker just like you and their dicks get all wet, start unsheathing from their hilts — 

They’ve got two of them, huh, one on the front half and one in the horse half. Makes you wonder exactly who the fuck _else_ fucks lynels, but — 

Either way, you’ve got yourself fucked up on the human-half cock, ‘cause the horse one was just — it was just _too big, god_ , you really _would die_ , and — and — this is just too good to do once, you know? You’re not gonna die for this. 

It’s a surprisingly gentle creature, really. Surprising, ‘cause you didn’t expect it to just remove it’s little loincloth the moment you came up to it with your pussy leaking slick down your legs, into your skirt, into your pants — surprising, ‘cause its hands have got claws and its mouth has got sharp-sharp-sharp teeth, but it kneeled before you anyway and licked up between your legs, made you take everything off, take everything _off_ , spread thick saliva with a scratchy tongue and make you _cry, god, fuck_ — 

It’s holding you up off the ground, has one hand up underneath your ass and the other holding the rest of your torso — _funny how fucking small you are in comparison, how fucking tiny you are_. Funny, how slowly, how carefully it lowered you onto its cock, all pulsing-red and purple and veiny, knobbed up in the middle already like a knot, only about as far down as your human body could take, and — 

It makes you wonder just how lynels mate, anyway, makes you wonder if their bodies are all meant for this, for fucking up tiny little Hylian’s like you, for fucking up sturdy horses with the other cock — _both, both, makes you wonder who the fuck else would go for this_ , god — 

It’s a strange push and pull, this, up inside your innards and raising up gooseflesh and steam from your body ‘cause you’re fever-hot, sweat evaporating just as quick as you can make it, but the lynel holds you steady, keeps its palms firm and bruising and lifts you up and up and _up_ till its dick is almost-almost out, pushing you back down till the breath leaves your body and you’re sure you’re gonna fucking _die_ , pushes that fucking knob up in you and takes it right back out again, all teasing, fucking _teasing_ — 

Or — or maybe not really, ‘cause — you came three times already, really, between the steady thrusts and the dick pushing your insides out of place and the steady friction-press of the beast’s soft fur against your clit — 

You’ve been shaking like a leaf for the past age, too overstimulated to do much more than writhe and gasp and cry weakly into the beasts’ chest, cling desperately to its shoulders and arms, shift your hips so the cock keeps pressing up against all those little good spots inside your pussy, until your body stops twitching with every centimeter that's pressed up inside you. 

No matter how many times you moan or clench your fingers too hard into its skin or clamp down on its cock, its pace doesn't falter, and its breath keep turning hard and loud above you, ruffling your hair every time it lifts you up. It doesn’t _care_ , it’s chasing its own release, and you haven’t really planned that far ahead, haven’t really thought about what might happen, but you’re pretty damn sure it’s not doing this for _funsies_ , and — and you’re not sure what’s gonna happen _after_ , either, but — 

But it’s hard to concentrate when there’s another orgasm climbing up your gut, climbing up your throat, turning all your gasps and whimpers urgent and fierce and _whiny_ , _needy_ , _thready_ like rope and twine, except — 

Except this time the lynel’s arms move you faster, faster, practically bouncing you along the length of its cock you can take, and your breaths come punched-out and frantic, and your fingers are too tight, and the dried spit on your shoulders and face from its drooling and scratchy licking seems to _burn_ on your skin, and for the first time since the beast lifted you up — 

It bends down, nuzzles its mouth right up against your neck and shoulder, snuffling along the area and it seems _sweet_ , except you should be frightened out of your damn _mind_ with its teeth so close to your jugular, and — 

It’s funny, watching it bend up and down in time with its own movements, right up until it huffs loudly and fucking _sinks its teeth into you_. 

You scream. Loud and waning and throaty, because it fucking _hurt_ , feels like those wacks the bokoblins give when you’re not paying attention, feels like your whole shoulder is _torn the fuck open_. But the lynel isn't growling at you, isn’t even biting into you anymore, just quietly licking scratchy saliva over the wound, almost like a fucking _apology_ , and you should be mad but — but — 

It stops hurting so much, and your brain is still fuzzy, and its cock keeps slipping up inside you, fast and urgent and hard enough to crack your spine, and vaguely you wonder what fucking aphrodisiac is in the saliva to soothe you so quickly, but — 

Then its thrusting grows _painfully_ fast, grows quick enough to make you worry about your tender organs, and — 

It pulls you down hard over its cock, slipping the knot as far into you as it can, and starts coming so hard it startles an orgasm out of your body, wracks you wide-eyed and still and whimpering so hard you’re sure your body shakes with it, sure you sound like a pathetic little dog, but you can’t fucking _help it_ — 

It’s hot, it’s _fucking hot_ , feels like fresh bread out of the oven _in your fucking womb_ , feels like its shooting it straight into your uterus, and it should _worrry you_ , but you're too busy clinging, still, craving something strange and a little fucked up and a _lot_ fucked up. 

It holds you still, and the knot fucking starts _growing_ , and your strangled whimpering turns into keening, and the pain-pleasure-overstimualtion of it has you seeing stars, but the beast just keeps licking you gently, gently, sweetly, and at last it all stops, stops, stops. 

You’re stuck up on a lynel cock, and it's still splitting you wide open, and your belly is so full of dick and come there's a visible bump. All the squirmy restlessness fucked straight out of your bones, you slump up in the lynel’s arms. It keeps holding you, but its hands shift and move until you’re more cradled than carried against its form. Your shoulder aches vaguely, but so does your pussy, and so does your abdomen, and the fucked-out pain just feels a little like comfort, at this point — you’re still alive, and the lynel has taken to rubbing its cheeks up against your new, shiny wound. Weird, but — yeah. Just weird. 

You didn’t expect any of it, really, not the living or the fucking or the come stuck up in your belly with a knot so big it threatens to tear you up keeping it secure. 

You wonder vaguely if you’re gonna get knocked up on it, the come and the biting and the knot all seem like fucking _mating_ , but — 

You can’t find it in yourself to mind, really. It feels a little like belonging, this, like the ache and the pain and the woozy aphrodisiac spit only make your insides curl with happy pleasure, and — hey — 

If it means you don’t get killed, you’d be happy to pop a lynel’s baby out your pussy. 

**Author's Note:**

> had this as an anonymous work, realized that you could see it on my dashboard in the series section, decided to stop being a coward, hi, I'm Finn and I'm a Fool


End file.
